The Colour Green
by RosylaGypsy
Summary: Prince Fiyero discovers that having a brain is more trouble than even he had envisioned. One-shot, set after the Lion cub scene. Mild Fiyeraba.


_**Well, I saw Wicked in Melbourne the other day, which is enough of an excuse for this pointless little ficlet, I guess. I don't know if you'll get anything out of this but it was inspired by the Archbishop's speech at our graduation mass (as DesertThief will recall), which began by his listing as many shades of green as he could think of (it was to do with our school colours I think, but I stopped listening after he declared that blue and red equal green). Anyway, enjoy!**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Wicked, the Musical (or the book).**_

* * *

_Asparagus._

_Broccoli._

_Artichoke_ – actually, that one almost sounded violent enough to suit her. Not that she was really a violent person, but she had a very scary, intense, piercing glare . . .

_No_. No thoughts regarding personality, especially elaborate ones. His newfound mental thesaurus was only to be used for one word, and that was _green_. (The fact that he even had the capacity for adjectives rather disturbed him; that they were surprisingly addictive downright frightened him.)

Where was he? Ah yes, green. _Mint. Moss. Leaves. Jade_ – no, no! That was far too appealing, and he was supposed to be focusing on unpleasant things. Things like vegetables and poison and some shades of vomit (he'd been a bit of an experimental eater as a toddler). See? There were lots of gross things that were green.

_Forests. Ocean. Emeralds._

He scowled and told his brain to shut up. Honestly, it had been quiet enough for the past seventeen years, why choose now of all times to start working? _Come on man, think of artichokes_.

_Emerald_, his brain persisted stubbournly. _Emerald, emerald, emeraldemeraldemerald_ . . .

"Fiyero? Are you all right?"

He opened his eyes and peered at Galinda over the top of his shades. It was a bit harder than usual due to the fact she was floating several feet above the ground on a bright turquoise blanket. "Sure Doll, why not?"

"Your brow was all creasy. Were you thinking again?" She sounded both concerned and disapproving. He was saved from answering, however, when she gave a small shriek as the blanket made a sudden dip towards the grass. "Elphie!" she cried as the levitating piece of fabric righted itself. "You promised you wouldn't drop me!"

"I'm not going to drop you," Elphaba said impatiently. She was kneeling across from Fiyero, concentrating intently on her floating blonde friend. The training wand had long been tossed aside in favour of using her raised hands as a magical conduit. Fiyero couldn't help but be impressed by her raw ability.

But perhaps her concentration wasn't as good as it appeared, because her eyes flickered in his direction briefly – and the blanket dipped again.

"Sorry, Galinda," she said over the next piercing squeal. Then, she glared at Fiyero. "You're boyfriend keeps distracting me."

"What, are my good looks that impossible to resist?"

Her eyes narrowed and she blushed dark green (_not emerald, dammit, NOT emerald_). "Wrong. You keep staring at me. It's irritating."

"How can you tell if I'm staring? You can't see my eyes," he protested, pointing to his sunglasses.

"I can tell. Now cut it out, I only have a week to practice before I meet the Wizard and we need to get to class in a few minutes!"

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"And don't roll your eyes at me, either."

_Creepy green girl,_ he grumbled to himself. _It's a shame she's so pretty_ . . .

_She is not pretty! She's not an emerald either so stop thinking about her like that. Don't think about the passionate, angry gleam in her eyes when she saved the Lion cub, or her gentle touch, or . . . you know what, just stop thinking. Period. It's what you do best anyway_.

To distract himself, Fiyero looked up at Galinda. She looked like an angel, floating in the air, her golden curls a halo in the sunlight. She was beautiful, there was no question about it. Pretty much everything he'd ever wanted in a girl – and now he had it.

And yet . . .

_Artichoke,_ he told himself firmly.

_Well, fine_, his brain conceded. _But Elphaba Thropp is one georgeous artichoke._

He'd been right the first time. Being brainless was so much easier.

* * *

_**Thanks for reading! Btw, Fiyero's Doll comment was inspired by Glitch, the "scarecrow" from the awesome TV series Tin Man.**_


End file.
